Inside, was a script.

  As the police officer walked by, Scarlett looked at the script in the evidence bag and then glanced up. She said, "Miles? Isn’t that your script?"

  He shook his head. "Couldn't be. My script’s in my bag."

  She looked as though she was going to argue with him and then seemed to change her mind. She turned her back and began to speak to Polly in a low voice. I remembered seeing Miles with his script last night, at the pub, but they all looked alike. The actors tore various scenes out of their binders to keep rehearsals simple, so there wasn’t a front page with the actor’s name scribbled across the front.

  A whisper travelled down the wide corridor, like a puff of breeze through a wheat field. It was information being passed from group to group. I heard Daffyd, the boy who was playing Bottom the Weaver turn to Liam, who was behind him, and say, "They found that script on the stage. Near Jeremy’s body. What do you reckon? It belongs to the murderer?"

  I glanced at Miles and I thought that everyone who had heard Scarlett's words must be looking at him, too. He looked pale and shaken. He muttered something and then walked out the doors into the cold. He didn’t have his backpack with him.

  Scarlett saw me and came over. "Lucy, I'm sure that was Miles's script. I recognized it. He’d torn a corner of the front page off to make a note. They're saying the script was left on the stage. Where Jeremy was—"

  I was still looking through the glass upper part of the doors where Miles was stalking away. His hands were shoved in his pockets, the line of his back rigid.

  She asked, "Why would he lie about where his script was?"

  Miles was headed towards the accommodation blocks. No doubt he was going to rifle through his schoolbag to see if he could find his script. I said, "Maybe he left it on the stage by accident. It could've fallen out of his bag without him noticing."

  Her eyes widened in shock. "But, he had the script at the pub last night. You remember. He and Liam were messing about pretending to do the scene in Welsh.”

  I nodded. I remembered it well. It had been hilarious at the time. Now, it didn’t seem so funny.

  “If Miles left it on the stage, that means—"

  I didn't answer. There was no point finishing that sentence, she could work out the end of it for herself.

  Miles? Killing Jeremy? Why?

  And why had he acted so peculiar around Sofia?

  Chapter 21

  About four o'clock, Ellen Barrymore invited everyone to come into the large rehearsal hall. Those who had hoped for a glimpse of the murder scene would be disappointed as it was still cordoned off by police. Meeting in the main theater would've been a macabre choice anyway, especially for Scarlett and Ellen and me. It was bad enough going into the rehearsal hall where I remembered so well Jeremy and Miles fooling around on that first day, drinking that love potion and throwing it in the coffee urn with no idea of the chaos they were about to cause.

  Jeremy had been gorgeous, full of life, and exactly the kind of young actor destined to rise rapidly in his career and end up as a household name. To think of him, murdered, before he’d properly begun, seemed so cruel.

  The sadness pressed on all of us as we entered that big room. The same room where we had gathered with such enthusiasm only a couple of days ago, ready to work together to create a comic masterpiece. Now we were bathed in tragedy.

  I looked around and, to my surprise, saw Rafe walk in the door and head towards me. I couldn’t believe he’d waltzed in here as though he owned the place. "What are you doing here? You've nothing to do with the play."

  "Very astute of you," he said in that snooty, superior tone of his. "In fact, I have some news I think you'll find interesting."

  I was trying to keep a low profile, do some snooping and trying to get a killer’s mask to slip. Having a tall, dark and gorgeous vampire by my side was not going to help me keep a low profile. Already, I could feel the buzz of interest he created.

  "Can you tell me later?” I asked in a low, urgent voice. “Back at my flat? Ellen specifically said we were to keep this meeting to cast and crew."

  I felt a prickle of foreboding between my shoulder blades. I glanced behind me and turned back to Rafe, in horror. "Oh no, here she comes. You'd better leave."

  Instead of doing as I asked, and when did he ever? Rafe turned toward Ellen and extended his hand. What was he, a groupie looking for an autograph? I was trying to think up some excuse as to why he might be here, and to assure Ellen that he was leaving immediately, when I saw her smile at Rafe and clasp his hand.

  "Rafe. How lovely of you to join us. I'm so sorry that it's under such tragic circumstances."

  "I'm sorry too, Ellen. From what I've been hearing, Jeremy Booth was a remarkable young actor."

  Her eyes filled with sudden tears. She blinked them away. "He was. One of my brightest. He had such a career in front of him, I can hardly bear to think of it." She brought her other hand to cover their still-clasped ones. "I must circulate and talk to the students. Thank you for coming. Your support means the world to me, especially now."

  As she walked away Rafe turned back to me. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

  "Oh, knock it off," I said irritably. "I might've known you two would be bosom buddies." I put on a fake swooning British accent. "Oh, Rafe, your support means the world to me."

  His lips twitched in reluctant amusement. "You've missed your calling. You should be on the stage, not helping behind the scenes."

  "Not likely. Anyway, what did you find out?"

  He glanced around and then dropped his voice. "I took a look through the surveillance footage at the pub where Sofia had her last drink."

  I was confused and I'm sure my face showed that. "But, the police have already been through that footage. That's how they discovered the photo of William Matthews." I indicated with a motion of my chin where Will was standing with Liam and Daffyd.

  "Yes, they did. And, after they found footage of William Matthews they stopped looking any further. I have more time than most coppers do.” He said it with a kind of deadpan irony since, as we both knew, he had all the time in the world, quite literally.

  "There was a woman who came in, by herself, about half an hour after Sofia and Will arrived. She wouldn't have been remarkable except that she was standing at the bar when Sofia's second pint was poured. The footage is fuzzy, of course, but you can see her leaning her hand out to get the bartender’s attention just as Sofia's pint is served up."

  "You mean, she could've been the one to slip some kind of drug into the drink?"

  "Exactly."

  I felt excitement beat behind my breastbone. "Sofia said she remembered hearing a woman’s voice. She’d have to be strong enough to carry an unconscious student."

  "Yes. I only saw her back and part of her side. She wore a cap, probably deliberately, and there are no good shots of her face. But she was hefty. Solid.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “Looked like jeans, and some kind of dark jacket. Unremarkable. She had a set of keys hanging from her back pocket, like a tradesman.”

  “Maybe the police can get more from that footage. Or connect a stocky female with a vehicle. Maybe a tradesman’s van? Suitable for transporting unconscious women without being spotted.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Scarlett came running up. “Lucy, I didn’t see you before. I’m so glad you’re here.” I’d become used to seeing that look in her eyes when she gazed at me, but it was becoming tiresome. I knew she was under the influence of that potion, but I had a murder to solve.

  When Polly beckoned her over, she huffed out a breath and rolled her eyes. “She’s so needy. I’ll be right back.”

  I turned to Rafe. “Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.”

  He looked amused. “What happens tomorrow?”

  “This potion should finally wear off. Unless Margaret Twig’s been lying to me again.”

  He shook his head and looked down at me in that odiously condescending way he had. “Lucy, when are you going to step into your power?”

  “Step into my power? Who are you? Tony Robbins?”

  “Tony who?”

  I tended to forget that Rafe was not one to keep up with modern culture. “Never mind. What’s all this about stepping into my power?”

  “You shouldn’t need me to tell you. I’m not even a wizard, but I know you’re a very powerful witch. You can end the spell anytime.”

  If he’d hit me up the side of the head with the lid of a trash can I couldn’t have been more shocked. “I can?”

  His cashmere-clad shoulders rose up and down once. “I don’t see why not. You helped make the potion and, I suspect, part of the reason Margaret Twig is so wary of you is that she senses your power is greater than hers.”

  This was the best news I’d had in a very dark day. “Really?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Sweet.”

  He said, “I think I’ll wander around and eavesdrop. Perhaps I’ll learn something useful. Good luck.”

  “You too.” He had the keenest hearing of anyone I knew, so if anyone dropped a clue, Rafe would be there to catch it. Assuming, of course, that he could translate modern, student slang.

  I was mildly suspicious that he’d shown up to keep an eye on me. Overbearing he might be, but he was protective as well and, when he wasn’t driving me crazy, I liked knowing that he had my back.

  Alice and Theodore came in and I could tell from Alice’s expression that they hadn’t found anyone who could confirm that Charlie spent the night outside her house. That was disappointing. As though she felt my gaze, she turned her head and when she spotted me in the crowd shook her head slightly.

  I’d have gone over but the student playing Titania went running over to her. My hearing wasn’t as good as Rafe’s but it was better than most. I heard her say, “Oh, Alice, I heard they arrested Charlie. It’s such a shock.”

  Drama queen. Alice patiently explained that Charlie hadn’t been arrested as he was innocent. Then I couldn’t hear anymore as another voice intruded.

  “Oh, look, Theodore’s here,” a female voice cried out in delight and the two scene painters who were vying for his affections elbowed past each other trying to reach him.

  Alice’s new friend lost interest when Alice refused to share her horror about Charlie’s arrest.

  Alice walked over to Jeremy’s photograph and was paying her respects, when I saw Charlie come in. He looked tired and a bit pugnacious. I could tell he hadn’t had a very happy time being interviewed. Ian had obviously played bad cop/bad cop. He was scanning the room, no doubt looking for Alice. He was waylaid by the woman playing Hippolyta, who looked as though she’d run off with him if he’d only say the word.

  I looked around the room. I ought to be trying to spot suspicious behavior, but all I saw was evidence of mismatched lovers. The two scene painters were both flirting with Theodore so hard their lips must hurt from all that smiling and sweet words. He looked tormented, though I thought mildly flattered as well.

  Still, I had had enough. I could feel the chaos of lovelorn feelings, confusion and betrayal all around me. This had to stop.

  Was Rafe correct? Did I have enough power to override the love potion? I wished he’d told me that two days ago. It would have saved a lot of embarrassment and heartache. Charlie was obviously over his infatuation with Polly, so clearly the three-day effect wasn’t absolute. I wondered if the potion wore off at different times for different people depending, perhaps, on how much they’d drunk, or whether their feelings were already engaged. When this was over, I would have to ask Gran or Lavinia. Margaret as a last resort.

  I could only try to break the spell. If I failed, we’d be no worse off. If I succeeded, I’d begin to wonder whether Rafe might be right and my power, once I learned to control it, was stronger than Margaret’s.

  I spent about a minute imagining all the things I could turn her into. I had a sneaking suspicion that she could turn herself into a cat at will. Something about her face and movements were uncannily cat-like. Anyway, turning her into a cat was too good for her. It might be fun to turn her into a mouse, though, and let Nyx play with her. I enjoyed that fantasy for several seconds. However, Nyx being a familiar probably wouldn’t play along. I wanted her to terrorize Margaret, not treat her like an equal.

  In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Bottom the Weaver is given a donkey’s head and Titania, queen of the fairies, falls in love with him through some trickery. That could be fun. Seeing a very proud witch in love with someone not anywhere near her equal.

  I gasped out loud. It was as though I’d turned a kaleidoscope one extra turn and had a completely different picture in front of me.

  “Lucy, Polly’s being such a pain. Let’s get out of here. It’s too depressing. We should go dancing. I know a great club.”

  “Scarlett,” I snapped. “You don’t love me. You’re under a spell.”

  Her lips curved. “I know. And I hope I never wake up. I know you feel the same way. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “No. You’re seeing what you want to see. Your eyes are blinded by a kind of love-madness.”

  “No. I’ve never felt this way before. You have to love me. You have to.” I thought she was going to cry.

  Anything was better than this. If I accidentally turned all the cast and crew of A Midsummer Night’s Dream into field mice, or made them all suddenly turn away from love altogether, I was sorry, but I had to clear the air. I couldn't think with all the confused emotions clogging my senses.

  “I’d do anything for you,” Scarlett exclaimed.

  “Go and ask Miles to come over here.”

  She began to pout. “What do you want him for?”

  “I need his help.”

  She looked disappointed but wandered off to look for him.

  Ellen had made her way around the rehearsal hall, very much like a cocktail party hostess working the room, and I sensed she was getting ready to begin this impromptu memorial.

  I heard a commotion at the door, cries of, “It can’t be. Sofia?” And turned to see the student who’d been lost, welcomed back into the fold.

  Even though she still looked tired, she’d styled her hair, put on makeup and was dressed in clean clothes. She looked gorgeous.

  I heard the buzz of voices as more people received the news and went to see for themselves that Sofia had returned, unharmed.

  Ian had come in with her. I saw him look over the room. He nodded briefly when he saw me but his eyes kept moving. I knew the minute he spotted Scarlett for an utterly fatuous expression crossed his face and he started towards her.

  “Enough.” I said aloud.

  “I quite agree,” said a blonde woman standing beside me, who I thought was something to do with costumes. She nodded as though I’d said something profound, then took a nip from a flask.

  I didn’t have my grimoire with me. I didn’t have a potion that anyone could drink as an antidote to the first one. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have dared let these already spell-bound mortals drink another potion I’d brewed. I did, however, have power.

  Sometimes my power sent ancient standing stones flying through the air, by accident, and blew up my kitchen, again by accident, but sometimes, I got it right.

  I believed that if I could focus, I could make this work.

  I remembered the words I’d said over the first potion. I thought I might be able to reverse the spell by making up a rhyme of my own. I wasn’t sure if it was the actual words that mattered or the way they centered the witch’s intent, though I suspected the latter.

  All I needed was a little space.

  And fire. The words arrived in my head, and the second I received them, I knew that was right. We’d made the spell with water, fire was its opposite. The words sounded like they were spoken, but in my head, though I heard the slight lilt of an Irish accent.

  But where was I going to get fire from? I looked over at Jeremy’s memorial corner, as though my gaze was being pulled there and saw Liam had a trio of stubby beeswax candles that he was pulling from his backpack.

  Perfect.

  I walked forward, arriving as he’d lit the last wick. The candles glowed deep gold and the smell of honey began to waft into the air.

  I took a deep breath.

  “Lucy,” Scarlett’s voice interrupted me. “I couldn’t find Miles. I tried. Come on, let’s—“

  “Scarlett, just the woman I want,” Liam said, and before she could reach me, he’d taken her arm and was leading her away.

  He turned and, looking at me over her shoulder, winked.

  I nodded to him, acknowledging his help and our secret kinship. I knew that he’d keep my sacred space clear for the minute or two I needed.

  Once more, I centered myself. I imagined all these confused relationships as a piece of knitting I’d tangled. I pictured the knots unwinding, the snarls straightening and the comfort of a perfect piece of knitting. Then, looking into the flame of the tallest and brightest of the three candles, I said:

  This love potion’s work is over and done

  Remove the love blindness from everyone

  The truth of their hearts let them see

  So I say, so mote it be

  The words were as simple as a child’s rhyme, but when I said the last words, the candle flared and its flame rose high, while the two smaller candles followed suit, the three flames rising into the air and receding like a fountain.

  I turned and, all at once, I felt the crazed emotions begin to calm.

  The two women making fools of themselves over Theodore, shook their heads and settled down. Scarlett looked at me as though, for a second, she couldn’t quite place me. Then she turned and looked around as though she’d lost something very precious.

  Polly was standing, not far away, watching her, and when their gazes connected, I said, “Ah.” Soon they were together, laughing.